19
Blake
Camera flashes strobe in our faces as I step out of the small limo on the royal blue carpet leading into the convention center. For a split second, I’m plunged into the last time I stepped out of a limo into a rainbow of flashing lights.
Debbie.
My heart seizes, but Trip catches my hand, helping me out of the vehicle. I exhale slowly, holding the side of my sheer, red Versace gown. I chose it in memory of her. The annual Belmont gala was one of Debbie’s favorite events of the year, and according to Hana, she’d already chosen the Versace dress she wanted to wear.
I never saw it.
Grief swells in my chest, but I hold it back. I’m here to get to the bottom of all the bullshit. On my way into the city with Greg and Trip, I got the final text from Papi-O, Welcome home. Time’s up.
I haven’t responded to any of the threats, but my suspicions are confirmed. They’re tracking my movements. Only three people knew I was coming here, and after my encounter with Greg, I’m convinced he’s involved somehow.
He doesn’t know that I know about my uncle’s ledger. I also know Dirk came to the city to investigate the names in that book. More importantly, my uncle wanted us out of here, which all adds up to one thing: Returning to the city is the only way to get the rats to come out and play.
I’m the cheese.
I have the money, but I know paying a blackmailer never stops the blackmail. It only encourages him or her. I have to find out who it is.
Trip pulls my hand into the crook of his arm as I scan the room of familiar and unfamiliar faces. “You’re very J-Lo in that dress, B. You make me look good.”
Glancing up, I give him a tight smile. “You’re welcome. I’m sure you could’ve found any number of attractive debs to hold your arm. Natasha or Rainey, for example.”
“Natasha is so boring, and Rainey’s a child.”
“She’s eighteen last I checked.”
He lifts two flutes of champagne off a passing tray, handing one to me and finishing his in a single gulp before grabbing another. “And yet I chose you.”
“You’re supposed to sip it, not shoot it.”
The gala hall is breathtaking as it is every year. The black and beige marble floors are polished to a high shine, and massive jeweled chandeliers are lit in a row down the center of the high ceiling. Windows soar to the roof, covered in long sheer curtains, and a dance floor is in the center of the enormous space with a full jazz band playing standards accompanied by a Kenny G type on the tenor sax.
It’s a black-tie affair, and the pedigreed class loves to take this opportunity to show off their Fashion Week finds. The ache in my chest fuels my desire for answers.
“I’m not surprised you changed your mind about being here. One can only stand so much of that corny, Hamiltown snoozefest. Poor Hana. I’m sure she’s climbing the walls.”
My eyes narrow, and I study his face. “She was doing very well until you showed up. I heard you took her out and got her high your first night in town.”
“You were misinformed. I did no such thing.”
“You’re saying Hutch didn’t find my sister high with you two nights ago?”
“Oh, he found her high.” He’s already on his third glass of champagne, and I’ve only taken two sips. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Why did you take her out?” I watch him as I sip from my glass.
“As I said, Hamiltown is as boring as being alive. Even that attempt at frivolity was a bust.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
I catch him mid-guzzle, and he almost does a spit take. “Are you high? Why the fuck would I want to blackmail you?”
“Is Greg?”
Shaking his head, he finishes his drink. “Greg has more money than God–and in cash.”
“Why was he digging around in my uncle’s study?”
Trip’s lips pucker, and he glances around the room. “He has his reasons.”
“Which you know?”
“Maybe.”
We walk farther into the crowd, closer to the dance floor, when I stop and pull his arm, forcing him to face me. “I’ve been generous with you. Now it’s your turn. What do you know?”
His jaw sets, and his eyes level on mine. “I know you’re a target because you won’t lose. Hana is at rock bottom and still digging, but the honey all comes from the same pot.”
“You know who’s behind this?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I can guess. Ask yourself who needs the money, and you’ll find him.”
“So it’s a him?”
He shrugs, answering me with that annoying smirk.
“What does Greg Peters need?”
All signs of mirth fade, and he glances over his shoulder before leaning closer. “Answers, and he’s determined to find them. You’d better keep your sister on ice if you care about her safety.”
My throat tightens, and I take a sip of champagne, doing my best to act indifferent. “What does he care about Hana? They barely know each other.”
“His uncle is missing, presumed dead, and he believes either Hana did it or she knows who did.”
“Hana isn’t capable of murder.”
“Have you seen her high?”
Chewing my lip, I don’t like to think about it. “Even if it’s possible, you have to have a motive. I’ve never even seen her angry at anyone.”
“Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. You can’t see the wind, can you? But it’s blowing some bad shit your way.”
Shaking my head, I try to make this make sense. “Who the hell is Greg’s uncle?”
“Your mother’s old accountant.” Victor. Now I am sick, but I hold my expression steady as he continues. “According to Debbie, Hana had a motive. According to Greg, Debbie said Hana got her revenge. He was going to confront her, but that tattooed freak was always hanging around blocking. He even blocked my attempts.”
Debbie told Greg? Could it be true? Inside I’m spiraling, but I force a laugh, rolling my eyes like he’s lost his mind. The truth is, I’m scared as shit.
“Whatever Greg thinks Debbie said, it won’t matter. Hana never remembers anything.”
“What did she forget about Victor Petrova?”
A large hand slides around my lower back, and I jump forward with a little yelp. Trip catches my drink, and when I turn, my eyes fly wide.
“Hutch… What are you doing here?”
“And why am I not surprised?” Trip exhales heavily.
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Hutch’s brow is lowered over his intense green eyes. His dark hair is perfectly messy, and he’s gorgeous in the requisite black tie and tux. “If you’ll excuse us, Trip.”
“Take her. I’ve got my own business to manage.” Trip waves me away with a flick of his wrist, and I know he’s hooking up with his gambling connections. “Goodnight, Blake.”
Hutch takes my hand and pulls me tight against his side. The band is playing George Gershwin’s “Someone to Watch Over Me,” and I don’t even go there with the coincidence.